So Small A Thing
by Dreamiflame
Summary: Dark, with slash themes. In a different future, Boromir has the Ring. Pippin reflects.


Title: So Small A Thing  
Author: Dreamiflame  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: These characters and places are the property of Tolkien Estates and/or whoever else owns them. Not mine.  
Warnings: This is dark. And creepy. If you don't want to see slash or darkness or Hobbit torture of a form, don't read this.  
  
Notes: I like Boromir. I thought he was a tragic character, and a misguided but brave and loyal man. That said, I felt that the glimpses we saw of him under the Ring's influence as he fought with Frodo indicated that if he had succeeded, he would have changed a lot from the man he had been. I wrote this for the 'One Ring to Rule Them All' challenge set forth by Dale.  
  
  
Pippin struggled awake, wondering for a moment at the heaviness in his head. His eyes blinked open and he started up at black stone, everything rushing back to him suddenly. He was in Minas Tirith, in the castle, and he was locked in his room.  
  
As always.  
  
The door squeaked open, and Pippin forced himself to lie still. If he gave into his terror and curled into a ball as his first impulse urged, Boromir would be very displeased.  
  
And Pippin hated to displease Boromir.  
  
The Lord of Gondor sat lightly on the edge of the wide bed and stroked Pippin's forehead. Pippin felt metal slide over his skin and suppressed a shudder. "Hello, My Lord," he murmured, licking his dry lips.  
  
"Hello little one," Boromir replied. His voice was husky and low, and Pippin thought of stone to keep his skin from moving. Large hands on his body made him shiver, but Boromir accepted that as proof of his enjoyment.  
  
Pippin had long since learned not to even hint otherwise.  
  
Afterwards, Boromir lay spent and panting atop him, and Pippin felt tears pricking his eyes. He always found completion, and every time, he felt the pleasure as a betrayal by his body. He bit his tongue until he could taste blood, and struggled for breath beneath Boromir's weight.  
  
Boromir lifted himself off finally, and Pippin stifled a moan as the Man pulled out of him. He felt stretched and raw, but after so long, it was a familiar feeling. Boromir leaned down and ruffled his curls, and Pippin swallowed hard. "My Lord?"  
  
"Yes, little one?"  
  
Trying to judge Boromir's mood, Pippin took a deep breath, then asked anyway. "When is Merry coming back?"  
  
Absolute stillness, and Pippin vainly wished for the words back. Boromir's eyes flashed, but he smiled faintly as he looked down at the Hobbit, and Pippin gave thanks for his small size. It was the only thing that saved him occasionally; the fact that Boromir thought of him as a child, and therefore, not very wise. 'A Fool of a Took,' as Gandalf had called him so long ago.  
  
A sudden blow, and Pippin's head reeled, but Boromir hadn't hit him hard enough to break anything, only enough to get his attention. The Dark Lord of Gondor's voice was like steel. "You are not to ask about Merry again, understand?" Pippin nodded, one hand pressed to his cheek, and Boromir pulled on his clothes and drew a hand down Pippin's chest. "Good. I'll send in some water for you. Bathe." And he was gone, the door slamming behind him like a final blow.  
  
Pippin lay in the bed and shook, tears flowing silently down his face. Another one gone, and soon there would be only him, and how long could he last? Boromir had changed, hardened, with the claiming of the Ring. Sauron had been defeated, and Mordor lay in ruins, but now Gondor's people walked in fear always, and everyone had learned when to look away.  
  
Water came, and Pippin bathed, drying himself on a towel so large he could have worn it for clothing. For the first time in a week he dressed, then sat in the lone Hobbit-sized chair, wanting for the summons he was sure would follow.  
  
They came for him, two guards dressed all in black armor, with the new crest of the Silver Tower under the golden Ring bright on their breastplates. He didn't recognise either of them, and as usual, Pippin wondered as they walked the long halls, why Boromir sent two guards for him, a mere Hobbit? Surely one would be more than enough to stop him, if he should try to run away. Not that he would, of course. Running away is futile when the one you run from can see anywhere he chooses. There was nowhere to hide, and Pippin knew it.  
  
The final hall before the throne room was the one Pippin hated the most. The skins there, flayed and dried, displayed as warnings, sent shivers up and down his spine. The walls were covered with them, and some part of Pippin's mind wondered what Boromir would do when he ran out of walls. All different sizes, and Pippin looked down at the floor as they walked near the ones closest to the door. He didn't need to see those skins. He knew precisely what they looked like, and saw them every night in his dreams.  
  
Boromir sat in the heavy carved throne at the middle of the hall. His brother, half-naked and chained to one arm of the throne, knelt obediently on a pillow. The two guards escorted Pippin to the dias, and closed the cuff awaiting him there around his arm. Pippin knelt, peeking upwards through his lashes. He once found it humiliating to be chained to Boromir's throne, but now he had come to accept it. There was no alternative, after all. In Gondor, Boromir's word was law.  
  
Resting a hand upon each of their heads, Boromir nodded to the guards. "Bring them in." The great doors opened, and Pippin looked down at the floor. He didn't want to see this, had never wanted to see these. He listened, instead, to the clink of chain againt stone, and Faramir's intake of breath.  
  
Long ago, in a different time, Pippin's sister Pearl had showed him a trick. If you concentrated hard enough on your breathing, on your heartbeat, you could send your mind to a place where the outer world didn't affect you. Pippin did that now, closing his ears to Boromir's voice, and the whimpers coming from the space before the throne. He hadn't known to do it the first time, and he still awoke in the darkness, covered in sweat, his head ringing with the Elf's cries.  
  
Compared to Legolas, everyone else had been easy to break.  
  
Much later, when the sounds stopped and the guards took away what was left, Pippin came back to himself in a rush. Faramir looked pale and sick, his skin sheened with sweat. Pippin pitied the Man, feeling sorry for the warrior who'd always lived in his brother's shadow. The Shadow fell across all of Middle Earth now, and Pippin's stomach twisted as he smelled blood. Boromir tousled his curls, and Pippin looked up for the first time since being chained. The Dark Lord smiled and touched the manacle, and Pippin was free. He touched his forehead to the floor and heard Boromir chuckle. "You may go, little one."  
  
Pippin waited until a guard touched his back, then stood, bowing again before following the tall black figure out of the room. There were fresh skins on the wall, and Pippin shuddered, stepping quickly to keep up with his captor.  
  
A second guard joined them at the end of the hall, carrying a tray full of food. Pippin was escorted back to his room and locked in, the tray left carelessly on the table.  
  
He wept as he ate, seasoning the food with salt as he always did. Only when the last crumb was finished did Pippin wipe his eyes. Carrying the empty tray to the door he knocked twice, and the guard took it, sliding the bolt home as he went away. Pippin stripped off his clothes and threw them into a corner, throwing himself onto the bed. He had no more tears, so he clutched a pillow and remembered. Eventually, his eyes closed, and he dreamt.  
  
The skins on the wall mocked him. Frodo, killed for the Ring. Sam, killed for trying to revenge Frodo. Legolas and Arwen, dead from the Elvish disease after Boromir forced them to submit to him. Aragorn and Gimli, cut down after their lovers died. Gandalf, for stirring up rebellion. And now Merry, for saying the wrong thing.  
  
Pippin shivered in his dream, and wondered hopelessy how long it would be before he joined the others, one more trophy. A small sacrifice to a piece of metal that had fit snugly around a hobbit's finger. 'It is a strange fate, that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing' he heard in his memory, and Pippin shuddered, and awoke to the darkness.  
  
So much suffering, over a Ring.  
  
Such a little thing. 


End file.
